Eternal Nothing (Stanner, Highschool AU, blind Bruce)
by productionofsilence
Summary: Tony Stark has it all, or so he thinks, until the day he meets a shy, blind boy, who helps him realize what's actually missing in his life can never be bought. Can two damaged halves truly make a whole? Warnings; abuse, bullying, thoughts of suicide, explicit content, and alcohol. Lot's of angst!
1. There was once this boy

_Born at home prematurely, Bruce Banner, was rushed to the hospital just after entering the world at home one crisp Autumn day. He was weighed in at a whopping 310 grams (10.9 ounces). Though, as fate would have it, his struggle into this world would surely not be his last. The first day of his life, Bruce was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect making his life thus far, for a lack of a better word, difficult. However, he was sent home a month after being released from the hospital, with two loving parents, who in turn, loved each other, as they did their son. Baby Bruce was welcomed into a comfortable little oak wood crib, his tiny wiggling form all wrapped up in blue cotton blankets. With his health problems sky rocketing, Bruce had become a hand-full during his early stages of infancy. It had taken the Banner family several hundreds of dollars, and even an extra job for each dedicated parent, to keep their frail baby alive and well. Even so the wedded couple knew deep down that their beloved child would be worth every small penny, and all strenuous efforts that were made._

_Over time, Bruce grew up to be an over-all healthy and chubby boy, gaining over 20 pounds in total by the age of 6. Unbeknownst to him, his life would continue to be filled with hard-times and sorrow. Nothing had ever seemed easy, but as far as he knew, that was the way it should be. And for a family that loved each other, any hard-ships were easy hurdles to surmount. At that time, he remembered his mothers smile, how her bright doe eyes twinkled whenever Brian kissed and held her, then his father, a military man, who had even cared and loved him, always treated him with much faith and compassion like Bruce was his world. Back then he never knew what he would be missing. He had enjoyed everything, and lived as any other child should be able to. He had been naive up until the day he made a mistake that wasn't truly his own. A mistake that changed his life forever and made the boy he used to be, seem like a fairy tale that was just too good to be true._

**Screaming.**

**A rough hand keeping him from flying away.**

**The sound of the wheels moving, and rubber burning.**

**The hand that is a vice on his consciousness.**

**And a scream that pushes adrenaline thought his veins.**

**Ice water, the pain.**

**Glass shattering under immense pressure around him.**

**Eyes flash with fear.**

**The last thing he sees.**

**Her cold face.**

**Then he remembers nothing but the darkness.**

**There is the numbing, the burning cold.**

**He's afraid of the black, oozing color from his eyes, as it shrouds his very existence into blank absence.**

**Then the nothingness absolute and fierce, raging dark, swallowing him and devouring.**

**Biting his skin.**

**"I can't see. Mommy where are you, I can't see... please help me, make it go away."**

**And he remembers... that it was all his fault.**

He likes that he can cry whenever waking up from a dream, it's the only time he'll actually grant himself an ability to feel, because expression is a privilege he has not earned in so long. He doesn't realize how the images have begun to fade with every night he has these terrors, in the time he wakes, all color is gone and he's back with that lonely ache and no hope. A broken boy, a hole in his heart. He's defective, his ghastly like recreancy is crippling to the eyes.

Wanting to evade any possibility of the man who was his father, being alerted by his pathetic sniveling, Bruce has to force himself to calm down. It's so hard, no one could understand that, by now after so much self-suppression, his tremors can become so easily extensive and wild once finally released, and given the freedom to break. Like an earth quake he barely feels it when he pulls himself up into a sitting stance. On the same bed he's slept in every night since the 6th grade, because he's not good enough to receive a new one. Today he struggles to get through his daily routine. But like always, it's nothing exciting.

If getting up in the morning isn't bad enough, school feels like a War zone in comparison. He walks to hell every morning, and every morning he's like a spy attempting and rarely succeeding to keep under the radar of society.

"Good morning, Bruce."

Is a common thing to hear, but only just from his teachers. Some that he doesnt even remember, others that he's never really met before. Most adults like to pretend that they like him, that hes a good kid with high morals and perfect test scores despite being so very handicapped (not that any of them would actually admit that he was). He's only two of those things really; blind and smart, just because he doesnt have anything else. It's all he is, and all he ever can be. He knows that, he accepts it as his life and his truth, so then why cant they do the same? If he's worthless, then he is. Thats all there is to it. No end game, just a lack of normality that will ultimately become his detrimental existance of a life.

His reaction to everything is a curt and noncommitable nod.

_Freak._

_Gross, look at his eyes._

_Whats wrong with him?_

The door crunches and metal bends under the weight of his body being plowed against the hard barely yeilding surface. It hurts the already present bruise on his shoulder and he gasps softly at the dull pain erupting through his upper arm. The sharp edges of his books dig into the crook of his arm as he holds them tightly against his chest, eyes closed for no reason other then to shield other people from his fear. He probably looks so pathetic, he probably looks ready to take several hits, even though they never actually come, and instead there's only laughing that seems so much worse. It stings in places that he cant simply bandage. He dips his head down low self-conciously and his breathing grows heavier, his mind zeroing in on the cruelness that he most likely deserves, just for being what he is.

And somehow, it's his fault.

"Woah, dude... is he _blind_?"

More laughter, it's funny that someone would actually ask such a meaningless question.

"What? Who cares, this guys a freak anyway."

He tilts his head up slightly when hes sure that he can hear heavy steps leaving him alone, each one sending waves of relief within him. Even though he can still clearly feel one-hundred more eyes boreing into his every insecurity, at least he managed to ride them off without encouraging more spiteful truths and injuries to his already ugly looking person. He thinks its safe for him to shake, to let a little bit of that fear out into the open so that he can manage breathing again. Until clearly, its not okay. So far from, that he really wants to just run and run until he cant feel anything at all.

"You okay?" Bruce hears. And he panics.

He doesnt know what to make of those words, but they certainly make him feel worse then someone calling him 'freaky' ever could. Mainly because he can accept that hes different and that no one should or could ever accept someone like him. What he finds difficult to take is the thought that someone his age can tell that hes not okay, and that hes actually quite terrified all of the time. His lips part to speak but he doesnt utter any real words. Its just a jumbled mess that leaves him like baby bird falling out of a tree. It's ugly. He hears a small unimpressed scoff and stiffens more, "wow man, you really are kind of weird." His face flares, and he just bows his head in submission to the words. They dont have to sink in for him to know that they're true.

"Wait, fuck - no I didnt mean it like that. I was just kidding..."

There's a brush of fingers against his shoulder and he flinches back so violently that hes left feeling embarrased. He hates himself for it, and he hates that he could hear just a shred of humanity in this strangers voice. He feels like he can drown in it, like he doesnt even want to let it soak into his inner most thoughts. It should mean nothing. The mans words are an object of pity, something that hurts him too deep to compare with the violence it was undoubtebly created from. Why would anyone harbor that for someone like him? Then fast and sudden, like lightning, he knows hes only been played with. He can hear the stranger walk away, and even forgets the small collected sigh he swears he heard right before there was only silence. He quickly gathered himself and felt his way to class.

Three days later, there were no more encounters like the one before.

Nothing negative is said to him, and only one person ever tries to trip him in the hall, but he manages to catch himself by banging his hip against a table. Its concerning that he begins to feel a little idle while he walks within the school halls. He tries to worry, but his body starts to feel more relaxed. When he goes back to the house he should be calling his home, he even realizes that the thick discomfort he feels constantly, isnt at all normal. It starts to make him feel like an idiot, more then he already does. No one should rely so much on constant chaos like he seems to, to a point in which they feel lost without it. But he does, he's so lost. And it was unsettling to say the least.

He hurts even when he doesn't.

The week is almost over, and hes sitting in the lunch room at a table alone reading a brailed book. His fingers dance lightly over the surface of a page, each small bump tangling into words that take him away from everything. It makes him tangible to be attacked, but hes not worried. Whenever someone walks a little to close, he cant tell if their staring or not, and he doesnt think about it as he lets each sentence drag him deeper into a world not like his own. The way he sees things are different, he doesnt remember what the color blue is or how it looks when ocean-water sparkles as the sun reflects off of the shaky surface. But there is such beauty in words, if its concentrated in just the right way, he can even imagine the shape of a wilder beast, or how a princes sharp and steel sword would shine with the blood of those who dared to challenge his love for a beautiful princess. He sighs forlornly.

"Hey."

He looks up at the sudden presence sitting somewhere beside him, he closes the book and gently places it against his hands and lap to keep the stranger from taking it, just in case that was the others plan. It wouldnt be the first time that's happened, and he very well knew to always act on all unpleasant experiences. He doesnt answer and directs his blank gaze downward, although he knows that he doesnt need to. He doesnt like it when people can see his eyes. Hes been told that they arent very pleasant to look at anymore; they used to be the deepest brown, just like his mothers were, wide and pure. But now they had an added, ugly thin layer of grey just over the iris. He didnt like making other people feel uncomfortable.

"Im sorry about my friends... I actually havent talked to them since... you know. So-are you okay? It looked really painful when you hit that locker."

It was, but he still refused to reply. It was a little irritating. Why would this stranger be talking to him again? He recognized the voice right away, it was the same guy who had asked if he was blind, as if that fact surprised him. As f it actually mattered. After-all, why wouldnt he be tyronnized for his handicapt? It's a known fact that people dont like what they dont understand. Bruce knows that their scared of him. And he gets it, he can understand why they would be, even Bruce is afraid of himself. But then why doesnt this one person sound at all intimidated as he speaks. Bruce can't make himself understand.

"Dont want to talk? Fine, yeah, thats alright. You really don't have to..."

He could sense some agitation, and even a small degree of concern in the other males voice. Bruce's lips tightened, his heart accelerating slightly as he tried not to panic. What was this guy playing at exactly? He had to want something from Bruce, there was no way anyone would waste there time on him when they knew he wasnt going to respond verbally. After awhile of uncomfortable silence, he heard the other male scoot back in his chair, declaring outloud that he wouldnt waste Bruce's time and would take his leave. He didnt see why the stranger had felt a need to announce himself before he actually left, but Bruce still didnt say anything, and just shifted his book in his lap as he waited until the other had left, before opening his book back to his marked page.

"My name's Tony, by the way. Tony Stark..." Bruce looked up again in surprise, "well... I guess I'll see you later then... bye Bruce..." the voice softened. And then the other actually left, a confused and stunned Bruce in his wake.


	2. Who lived in a little house

Tony's POV

He doesn't always get up in the morning, and he never really wants to face another day of school, just knowing that its going to be hell. Its not that his life is particularly terrible or even worth complaining about. It's just that he always has this draggy feeling in his gut, like a sticky warm smog in his head that no legal amount of caffeine can cure, keeping him from a singular part of mind that would give him thought or reason. Most of the time he tries his best to cover up that little taste of instability, usually with a snark grin and the occasional arrogant remark. To anyone who got a glimpse at his imperfections, and to whom would ever call it out, he would simply deny it and pretend as if everything is alright. Its not a part of him that he really holds any pride for, but its one that he thinks he'll always need.

"It's about time you got up."

He rolls his eyes and attempts to move around Howard, who in turn, grabs his arm and hauls him back a few steps until he is finally facing the man who, sadly, gave him life. Though he's not really looking at Howard at all. Rather his eyes are trained directly to the floor, because that is where he feels more comfortable to look. He hates seeing the grim look on his fathers face every time he looked down at his son like hes nothing red-letter, like hes just another useless employee ready to be replaced. God Tony really hates that look, and mostly, he kind of hates Howard too. He believes that the feeling is mutual.

"Yeah, bye." He knocks the offending hand off with the back of his hand, pushing his way past the man he's supposed too be proud to call his father. He just wants to get another day over with. So he doesn't have to pretend that he even likes his friends, or that hes even a little bit interested in sports and girls. Pepper, his girlfriend going on 3 years, doesn't even want him for him. He's popular, and she's head of the cheer-leading squad. Society put them together, because that's the way it's supposed to be for those who are deemed one of the 'cool kids'. It's all so very childish, but Tony won't do anything to change it, because people can be frightening when given a reason.

He understands just how true that really is, when he walks down the hallway that morning, and his friends shove a kid into one of the schools lockers. It all happens so quickly that his instant reaction is to do what everyone else was, and as it seems, every one else was laughing. So he did, and for a second, it seemed funny. Until the guy looked up and Tony see them, clear as day, the boys irises were covered in a white film that indicated his blindness.

"Woah, dude is he blind?" He's surprised by his own surprise. Of course he is, it's pretty obvious even from a far away view. All of a sudden it doesn't seem as funny anymore, because well fuck, who does that? To a blind guy? The boy didn't even have one of those canes, so God only knows how lost he is even without someone shoving him around.

"What? Who cares, this guys a freak." Says Kyle? He vaguely remembers, not all that interested in who said it. To Tony, it should be true. He shouldn't care, because in that moments, its what everyone expects out of him. It's what they want, but he's not sure if he has that in him. Tony's a dick on a good day, but hes certainly not this cruel. Tony watches them leave, and when one of his friends 'Rhodey' looks at him strangely when he doesn't follow, he just shrugs. Its a good enough answer apparently, and when the other guys leave he's by the blind guys side like flies on honey.

"You okay?" He said, and the other guy panics.

The others lips part to speak, as if he's about to say something, but no real sentences are uttered. All he hears is an embarrassingly incoherent grumble of words and noises. He sounded broken, in a more literal sense. Its ugly, and Tony winces slightly as he hears it. He smiles, because the rambling words are actually kind of cute, he doesn't even realize what they mean until he tried to joke about it, chuckling softly, "wow man, you really are kind of weird." He knows that its not the time for jokes when the other boy straightens, bowing his head like hes ready to get hit. Tony's smile fades quickly, and is replaced with a small scowl. "Wait, fuck - no I didn't mean it like that. I was just kidding " and he was, but even when he tries to lay a comforting hand onto the others shoulder, the boy jerks away like he's been burned.

Tony has never felt like more of an absolutely shitty person then he did at that moment.

After a long a tense and pregnant pause, he sighs just under his breath, stepping back for a second in hesitation before he walks away.

Three days later, he cant stop thinking about the encounter he had with the blind boy.

But he tells his friends not to mess with him anymore, that if they do, he'll stop paying for their party's and that means no more endless rivers of alcohol. They agree instantly, and he makes sure that they keep their promise.

No ones going to hurt him anymore.

And its all Tony's fault.

He has never felt so proud of himself.

The week is almost over, and everyday hes looking out for that boy. He doesn't know what makes him so captivating. At first Tony thinks that it might be the hurt in his dead yet still so marvelously expressive eyes that are the deepest of brows. Just like his mothers had been before she died. Or it could be just the way he looks, curly messy hair that doesn't look like its been brushed ever, and his gangling limbs attacked to the straight and narrow core of his body. Needless to say, even though Tony watches, he cant bring himself to do anything. As much as he wants to talk to the strange boy, he doesn't know if he wants to be seen doing it. And that thought makes him so sick. So utterly done with this conformist life-style, that he's actually on his feet before he can stop himself.

And he gets to the boys table.

But he doesn't know what to say.

That's right, loud-mouth I-have-something-to-say-about-everything, Stark, couldn't think of one witty starter line to say to someone he barely even knew. But this someone was different, this particular someone was was Tony looked around the boy, catching sigh of his bookmark. On it was scribbled in a messy scripture "Bruce Banner". That's his name? A big bush? Tony grins and sits down, feeling a new wave of confidence rolling over him.

"Hey." Is what he starts with, practical, and its not the most alluring commentary, but it worked since he did get the others attention. Tony could have frowned whenever 'Bruce', closed and held his book in a vice like grip, but he didn't. He just stared, and waited for an answer that probably wouldn't come. And one that, as he quickly realized, didn't.

So he settled for flattery, something appropriate that needed to be said, "I'm sorry about my friends I actually haven't talked to them since you know. So-are you okay? It looked really painful when you hit that locker." His hands moved expressively as he spoke, only because it was a habit, not because he actually thought the other could see. Either way, his statement went unanswered again. And so just like before, he switched tactics, "don't want to talk? Fine, yeah, that's alright. You really don't have to " he peeked at the other male, sighing when he still didn't get any reaction.

Oh well. At least he tried.

Tony got up to leave.

But he didn't, at least not right away.

"My names Tony by the way. Tony Stark " he saw the other look up in surprise, and scowled. Maybe the other knew his name through his father. Probably. It just flat out disappointed Tony that the mention of Howard was most likely the reason he had looked up. But Tony just licked his lips, stowing those gut wrenching emotions down as he always did, "well I guess I'll see you later then bye Bruce." His voice softened, but he looked away before he could see whether or not Bruce noticed. Tony fled then, feeling confused and stunned by the teen he left behind.

OOC: I'd like to thank everyone who has given me a positive review, and or follow. I cannot express how happy I am that all of you are enjoying this. That being said, the fourth chpt will be open to suggestions. I'll try to fit in as many as I can. I won't be doing that for the third because I already have something planned. Thank you again, and please keep on reviewing! Constructive criticism is welcome.

This is edited! 


	3. With little dreams

Tonys POV;  
He can't stop thinking, can't stop obsessing, and he knows he's falling deep. Tony could only recognize it as being a slight man-crush on one certain, nerdy tweenager with a shy composure and (what he thought to be beautiful and unique) foggy eyes that honestly hold more emotion and life then most people he knows. More or less, he's being slightly undergirding about it, bearing the weight of what his 'friends' (or formerly known as) had said and done to the boy, and how he'd sat back letting it happen, even though Bruce had looked innocent enough and obviously already taking shit by the truck load from God knows who and where.

And Tony tries to talk to the other male, he really does, but what he can't seem to understand is why he can't. Sure, he can get the courage sometimes to say hello or sit a little closer to Bruce then what might be necessary, but it feels too much like a project for his comfort. And Bruce is not a project, he's more, he feels special and Tony just wants to accept that, because fuck he's supposed to be the cool one here! Bruce makes stuttering and red-faced look suave when put up against Tony's utter mindless babbling. It's frustrating in a way that makes him want more.

And Tony Stark always gets what he wants.

It the day that he doesn't see Bruce either walking through the halls or sitting alone in the library that this fact really comes to light. It's not until near the end of the day that he sees Bruce for the first time, and he doesn't like what he sees.

Bruce is hunched, and it honestly looks like he's struggling not to sit right there on the floor. He has his hood pulled up over his head and the string around his neck is tied to make it so that no one could see his face. But even with that, Tony can somehow tell that he's been crying or at least that he is very upset. He's so easy too read, for someone who can't see, and Tony thinks that that's why it's so easy, and maybe one reason he likes the boy so much. It also makes him fun prey for people looking to prove themselves to society. Except for Tony, of course, he would never hurt Bruce intentionally.

"Heya' Bruce! What's been holdin' you up, haven't seen you like - all day, man." he calls out, unnecessarily loud, with a friendly gleam even though the other couldn't see it. Bruce made him smile, it was only science by now. One thing leading to another, Bruce, leading to Tony getting the smallest pleasant flutter in his gut - making him smile like a moron.

Bruce doesn't reply which honestly isn't anything new, but the way he just doesn't seem to acknowledge Tony's presence at all, not even a small turn of his head or a nervous twitch, makes him worry even more then he already was. "Hey, Big guy, helloooo?" he steps closer, quirking a brow in question. The other males head ducks lower, and Tony wonders if he keeps on doing that, maybe his head will just roll off his shoulders completely. It's a funny thought, but Bruce was giving him better reasons to worry.

"Uhm. Did I do something wrong? Why are you ignoring me?" Tony frowns, feeling a little rush of something akin to panic wash over him in waves as he stared at Bruce, worry evident in his eyes.

Bruce doesn't move for a moment longer, but when he does, Tony can't help himself but to imagine Bruce saying something like 'go away, you're annoying' or 'why do you even talk to me?', and that's a fucking terrifying thought, so he doesn't let it simmer any longer then it needs to-and oh shit, Bruce is actually talking now. "I'm sorry, totally blanked for a sec. Could you speak up, maybe?" he said gently, waiting, and after he only got a sigh in response he swallowed a little in worry. "Sorry, I know, I'm a spazz. Come on." He nods his head back with emphasis, even though, again, Bruce clearly wouldn't be able to see it. No one can fault him for being a bit of a drama queen when the moment calls for it.

"Tony, can we not do this today... I've had a rough morning." He quirks his brow at how exhausted Bruce sounds, and he knew if he could actually see the other males face his eyes would hold that same exhaustion in them. He sighs in relent.

"Fine, though it's actually more like you 'had a bad day', since it's almost over, but whatever. Hey, you doin' anything this weekend?"

Tony can see Bruce stiffen, and he hopes it because he's contemplating the idea, and not that Tony had overstepped some invisible border. "Sure... I... I guess... I am now?" fireworks go off, and Tony hasn't felt quite this happy and relieved in... well, he can't tell how long its been, but he doesn't care, because it feels great.

"That's the spirit, Banner." Tony takes a chance by gently patting the boy on his shoulder, pulling away at the wince, taking it as a gesture of extreme discomfort, a reoccurring theme between them, he notes.

For the first time since grade school, Tony hopes he isn't annoying another human being.

But this isn't just another human, not another face he needs to memorize for sport, no - Bruce was like something else entirely. Someone who deserved respect. And for what? Getting picked on? Well, Tony's always had a thing for the under-dog - though that's not the entire truth - he takes pity on the blind kid who seems too nice for his own good sometimes. Even though he's been giving Tony the cold shoulder for quite awhile. The rich teen can sense that there's a lot more there then what he and everyone else sees from Bruce Banner.

Bruces POV;

He isn't sure what compelled him to accept Tonys offer. He's never hung out with anyone before, and for good reason, he doesn't need to feel on edge even more so then he already does. He knows how this will go, how he'll be tugging down his shirt, covering his face, and not talking to save himself from being caught with all the ugly marks covering his person like a second skin.

Bruce can see now how horribly that could go if he messes up. If he just doesn't pay attention for even a split second, how things can go from what he would consider 'bad' too 'hell' in no time at all.

But he's honestly too afraid to take his words back now. Answering had felt so easy, too easy in fact. Maybe it's because Tony talks so much, and his mind had forced himself to feel a sense of false familiarity with the boy. That fact scares him beyond the scrapes and bruises or whatever's waiting for him back home. He knows that living a demeaning lifestyle is nothing in comparison to loosing someone you're close too. He doesn't even think about why he believes that. Though he can;t help himself but to know deep down, it has something to do with his past, with one person in particular. Someone he doesn't have the strength to bring up, even to himself.

Tony tells him a time, day, and his number saying that it would be okay if he couldn't remember. And of course Bruce didn't dare to say that he indeed could easily have remembered it, but what would have been the point when he doesn't own a phone? Or that he can't even use the one hanging in his kitchenette, because his father had forbidden it for whatever reason?

"Okay..." he says in a thoughtful and quiet voice. If he were a girl, and hadn't hit puberty early, Tony probably wouldn't have heard him at all. He heard a soft, bemused chuckle and then the sound of footsteps shortly afterward. Bruce's head tilted up out of instinct, blurry eyes lifting towards the descending sound of what he supposed to be Tony walking away. He heaved a heavy sign, lowering his head again whilst burying his fingers knuckle deep into his own burly locks of hair. At least that was over, now he'd just have to survive a whole day of it tomorrow. Joy.

He was more excited about it, and nervous, then he wanted to admit.

Tonys POV;

When the boy looked up at him after a moment his heart lurched up into his throat but he remained still. Their eyes met, and Tony couldn't breathe until Bruce's eyes flickered away. Looking back, Tony could see that he was simply following the sound of another person moving.

He exhaled, sealing his lips soon after in hopes that he didn't blow his cover. Gladly, he didn't, and Bruce had other more important things on his mind.

And now, so did Tony.

Had he seen right, or were his eyes playing trick on him? No, he may be popular and rich, with what seemed to be the world sitting in the palms of his hands, but Tony knows that his intellect reaches a level far higher then anyone else at his school. He's sharp, and he knows what he saw.

Bruises, littering the boys face. His strong jaw coated in them, varying in color and intensity, accompanied by a cut striping down the middle of his swollen lip. He wanted to speak out, say something, get angry and demand answers. Normally he'd do just that, but Bruce had appeared to assume that Tony was already gone.

He looked spooked too, and Tony didn't want to be the one that made that any worse. He'd have to bring it up later somehow. Right then, he just watched the other teen move, staring at him really, knowing he couldn't possibly detect it. Hopefully, he prayed, that this was just another bully problem and not one that hit a little closer to home.

Tony went home exhausted, but anticipating the day to come when he'd be able to actually hag out with someone he genuinely liked.

This could go either really, really bad, or it could change his life for the better. Well, he only had one way to find out.

OOC; Okay for first, I'd like to deeply apologize for not updating in so long. My muse has been down the drain as of late and I've been having a hard time finding any inspiration for this ff. Thank you all for being so patient, for the follows, and the amazing reviews. Please keep it up! I promise to update more now that I'm on track in school.

Edited. 


	4. That didn't mean a thing

Bruce's POV; A flashback to the night before

These things always start out in the same way. How does something wrong, something he can't always digest or pinpoint to exactness. Then that's when the hitting starts. Words dripping in lashings of malice. Unforgiving pain soon follows, because unlike most, Bruce has lost all feelings of adrenaline long ago.

Now he's pretty sure when it's going to happen. Because it happens all the time. He's told each time to go clean himself up when it's over, a task easier for some, a struggle for someone like him.

The hot spray of the shower feels good. It's as if all of the poisonous hate embedded into the tissues of his back starts to melt from inside each wound, pouring from the gaps, so desperate his body is to feel clean again.

He's so ugly like this, but he doesn't care anymore, it's all about how he feels. And that would always coincide with a disgust he can't swallow.

He hasn't figured out if he should attend school the next day. Bruce can't tell how far the damage has gone this far. Unless he was too drunk, his father probably would have said something. Which, considering that heavy aroma of cheap alcohol wafting through the house, Brian was more intoxicated that night then usual.

He closes his pale eyes for no reason other then too feel something. Though he can't see, he can detect light. Sometimes he can get headaches from it, other times it just gets annoying. Like a constant reminder, almost a taunting of how he'll always be this different.

The patter of the water beating against his aching skull relaxes him. He inhales slowly, shakily, like his lungs cannot withstand the weight of his thoughts.

His first memory starts with rain.

He can see it like it was yesterday.

His mom, what they said before the crash, how he can't remember what those last few sentences were.

He can only hope it wasn't anything bad. He hopes that, at least too her, he was always a good boy.

OOC: Okay, quicky post up. I thought I should give a glimpse as to how bad Bruce's home life is. God I feel so torturous right now, poor little baby, can I just be his best friend? Guys, seriously though, thank you so much for the reviews. I'm so happy you all are enjoying my story. I'm also on the first page now! So exciting! 


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